


More Precious Than Gold

by PadBlack



Series: orphan!Fíli-AU [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Related, Blacksmith Thorin, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Fíli, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Protective Thorin, Sentimental, child maltreatment, non-graphic non-sexual child abuse, treat of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3823519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PadBlack/pseuds/PadBlack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is a hard-working blacksmith, wandering about the cities of dwarves and men to earn a living for his little family, his sister Dis and his young nephew Kíli. One day Thorin catches an unusual thief who tried to steal his precious tools. The blacksmith had lost too many loved-ones in his life before; can he save and protect a helpless child?</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Precious Than Gold

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a kid fic again AND I wanted something Fíli&Thorin-centric - So, here is the result.  
> I hope you like it :)
> 
> Thank you, Kelly, for the beta - as always <3

 

CLONK- CLONK- CLONK-

 

The work was nearly finished, just a few careful refinements. Thorin stretched his arm and reached without looking for the small hammer. His hand fumbled but didn't find the needed tool. Frustrated, the blacksmith turned around. His gaze fell on the rack where he had left the hammer, but now it was empty. Frowning, he searched his bench, the ground, yet he found nothing.

 

Damn, yesterday he lost his small whittling knife, the one, he used for carving little wooden figurines and animals for his young nephew Kíli during his rare spare time – and now the hammer. Was he becoming a forgetful dwarf? Or was there a thief, stealing his precious tools?

 

Out of the corner of his eye Thorin suddenly perceived a movement. Reflexively he lunged forward and caught a piece of cloth.

 

A high pitched shriek, then a rattling noise – a bucket has fallen over – and finally lying on the ground was a little creature. Thorin couldn't name it at first because it was covered in dirt and worn, old shreds. When he looked closer the smith noticed he had caught a wee dwarfling, who stared at him with scared blue eyes.

 

“What do you think you're doing here?” the blacksmith asked sternly.

 

The boy didn't answer but looked like a trapped animal, searching panicky for an escape.

 

Thorin stepped closer and grabbed his uninvited visitor's arm and pulled him up.

 

The kid flinched, then whispered in a desperate voice, “Let me go, please. I won't do it again, I promise.”

 

“I can't just let you go. You tried to steal my hammer and I wonder if you've picked up my knife, too.”

 

The boy shuddered when Thorin let out the word 'steal'. He ducked his head.

 

“You're a thief and I should hand you to the guards.”

 

“Noooooooooo, please, no-no-no-no,” the little one started to sob frantically. “I'll do anything, but don't tell the guards, please.”

 

The dark-haired dwarf stared at the despairing child. He could be hardly older than Kíli.

“They will chop your hand off, won't they?” Thorin mused.

 

The boy nodded, his dirty blond locks falling into his eyes. Occasional hiccups had replaced his sobs. He just stood there, held in place by the firm clutch of the blacksmith, his head hanging and just seemed to be terribly frightened.

 

“You know stealing is wrong?” Thorin asked after a few minutes of thinking and watching the dwarfling.

 

Another nod.

 

“Then, why did you do it?”

 

The boy shrugged in a helpless gesture.

 

“Come on, you can't tell me you don't know why.”

 

The blond hesitated, “M-my sire told me. He says, that's all I'm good for, stealing and begging. People have pity when they look at me, so they give me a coin but I haven't got enough the last days so he told me to pick things.” He snuffled then wiped his eyes with his ragged sleeve. “He didn't like the knife, said it was worthless and dumped it.”

 

Thorin flinched at the thought – his good knife.

 

“B-but I fetched it. I like it. It's so small.” The boy dug into a pocket with his free hand and held the knife out at the blacksmith. With pleading eyes he said, “Here, you can have it back, but please don't tell the guards.”

 

Thorin took the knife from the boy's hand. He sighed. Of course he wouldn't hand the boy over. This was just a tiny kid, who didn't know better but after another moment he said, “I would really appreciate if I got my hammer back, too.”

 

“I- I didn't take it,” the boy's eyes went huge. “I wanted to, b-but you caught me and I dropped it.”

 

Thorin heaved an eyebrow.

 

“It's true, honestly, it-it's on the floor, maybe below the bench?”

 

With a stern look at the child the blacksmith loosened his grip on the boy's arm and bent down to look for the tool. He half expected him to run away when released but it didn't happen.

 

The dark-haired dwarf found the hammer below the bench, just like the boy said. He put it back on the shelf.

 

Then he asked his uninvited visitor out of the blue, “Are you hungry?”

 

The boy stared at him perplexed, then nodded slowly. A growl from the kid's stomach seemed to confirm it.

 

The blacksmith chuckled. “Ok, but it's not much. Here, sit down,” he heaved the boy to sit on his working bench, “I've just a piece of bread and some cheese left from my meal.”

It was a lie. Thorin had left it for himself as dinner. He couldn't afford a hot meal every evening, but just decided that the kid needed the food more than him. He could skip one day.

 

When Thorin watched the blond wolfing down the meagre meal he shook his head inwardly. How could anyone treat this child – any child – so bad? How could a wealthy city like this let its people starve and force them to become thieves and beggars. This was injustice.

 

“So, what's your name, little one?” Thorin asked when the boy picked up the last crumbs of bread.

 

“Fímri,” the dwarfling mumbled and dared to look shyly at the blacksmith. “But everyone calls me Fím.”

 

“I'm Thorin – How old are you?”

 

The kid wrinkled his brows, thinking hardly then held out his little hands and spread the fingers, then he touched one, two, three, four fingers of his left hand and said,” F-fourteen, I guess.”

 

'Mahal, he is way too young for this poor life,' Thorin thought, then cleared his throat, “So, tell me, Fím, what shall I do with you?”

 

Fím crouched and made himself as small as he could. “I don't know,” he whispered.

 

“You said, your sire told you to steal – or to beg.”

 

The boy nodded.

 

“And what about your amad? Where is she? What does she say about this?”

 

“She is dead, died when I was born,” Fím ducked his head. “My sire said it was my fault, that's why I have to bring home coins and things.”

 

“What?” Thorin was thunderstruck. This statement was too incredible, too outrageous. What kind of dwarf would treat his child like this? What kind of dwarf would blame his kid for the death in childbed?

 

Without knowing the reason for the blacksmith's anger the boy tried to justify himself, “I-I didn't know, I didn't want her die and-and the sire said he could have killed me because of what I did and I should be thankful that he didn't and-”

 

“ENOUGH,” Thorin roared and Fím whimpered at the harsh voice. The blacksmith was shaking with suppressed anger. “How could he blame you for your mother's death? It is never the fault of a babe if a mother dies. It is very sad but it happens. Fím,” he grabbed the boy's slim shoulders. “Look at me, boy – It wasn't your fault.”

 

The blond stared at Thorin, scared.

 

“Where do you live?” He asked pressing. “I want to talk to your sire.”

 

“NO!” Again Fím was panicking. “No, please, sir- mister- my lord- no, please, not the guards but not my sire, too. He'll- he'll-”

 

“He'll beat you?”

 

Fím shuddered and bowed his head.

 

“Alright,” Thorin sighed. His thoughts were racing. How could he help this wee dwarfling? He didn't spend a second thought at the fact, that the kid had tried to rob him. All he could see was a helpless child like his little nephew, who needed love, protection, a proper home, a full belly and time to play and just be a child and not be forced into being a thief and a beggar.

 

“So, Fím, how much money do you usually bring home to your sire?”

 

The boy wrinkled his forehead. “On very good days a quarter silver coin, but mostly just some copper pennies.”

 

“Ok, let’s say, you help me in the forge, cleaning and sorting the tools, clean up the floor and I give you food and pay you 2 copper pennies a day. It's instead of handing you over to the guards. What do you say?”

 

The blond boy stared at Thorin with wide eyes.

 

“Y-you want me to work for you? You w-want to pay me?”

 

“Yes, I will do that. But you have to promise me, you won't steal again, understood? If I ever catch you stealing, I will hand you to the guards, are we clear?”

 

The boy swallowed, then nodded slowly. He bit his lip, “But my sire will not be happy if I just bring him 2 coppers – I'm sorry.” He muttered and lowered his gaze again.

 

“We'll work something out,” Thorin sighed.

 

 

**-x-**

 

And so Fím started working for the blacksmith. Of course Thorin wouldn't let the kid work real hard. The boy mostly had to hand him tools, sweep a little, fetch some water and often just watched the smith do his work and kept him company. Fím spend only 3-4 hours in the smithy. As Thorin couldn't pay him as much money as the boy needed to bring home, he still went begging in the streets. Thorin didn't approve but couldn't prevent it either. He only hoped the boy kept to his promise not to steal again.

 

Thorin had grown very fond of Fím. He had tried to follow the lad on his way home once or twice but always lost sight of the smart and swift little dwarfling.

 

After one week that Fím came regularly to the forge, the boy didn't appear. Of course the kid never showed up at the same time, but now it was past midday and he still wasn't there. Thorin was deeply worried. Did the boy go back to stealing? Did the guards catch him in the end? Did his father find out about the secret job of his son and didn't like it?

 

The painful truth was, that Thorin couldn't do anything. He didn't know where Fím lives or where else to find him and he didn't know anyone who knew the boy or whom he could ask for him. There were too many strays on the street, so who would spend a second look on one wee dwarfling?

 

Two days later Fím finally returned to the forge. He knocked softly, seemed to be too frightened that he could startle Thorin and was ready to run if the blacksmith would shout at him. The boy was limping slightly and the dark-haired dwarf noticed in an instant the black-eye even if the kid tried to hide it behind his curls and strands of hair.

 

“Fím? What happened to you, boy?” Alarmed Thorin knelt in front of the child, who flinched when the smith touched his arm.

 

“Who did this to you?” When the blond didn't answer, Thorin whispered, “Your sire?”

 

A tiny nod.

 

“Oh, dear,” Fighting between the feelings of wanting to smash the evil dwarf's head and protecting the child, he decided to pull the dwarfling in a careful embrace. Fím stiffen at first, then relaxed and wrapped his scrawny arms around Thorin's neck and started to cry.

 

The blacksmith rose with the weeping child, rocked him gently like he had done with Kíli when he was just a baby and whispered soothing words in the little one's ears until his tears stopped and the blond just snuffled softly.

 

“What happened, little one?” Thorin asked after a few minutes of silence.

 

“He-he found the little bear,” Fím sniffed quietly.

 

Thorin sighed. He had given the lad one of the little wooden figurines he had actually made for Kíli. Fím had looked longingly at the toys. He had never owned some of his own, and so Thorin had seen no harm in giving the blond one for himself.

 

“And that's why he beat you?”

 

Fím nodded. “The sire said, I just bring useless stuff and not even enough money, too. He k-kicked me and I fell a-and he locked me up and now I'm so hungry,” the boy's blue eyes were pleading when he looked at the blacksmith.

 

“Fím,” Thorin said urgently, “You need to tell me where you live and who your sire is.” The boy vehemently shook his head. “Nooo, please, no, Thorin. I- I can't-”

 

“Lad, I want to help you-”

 

“No,” Fím wriggled until he slipped out of the smith's hold, nearly fell on the floor but managed to flee the forge within seconds.

 

“FÍM,” the dwarf shouted. He tried to follow the boy but again he had vanished between the houses and the streets.

 

**-x-**

 

Three days later – in which Fím hadn't returned to the forge again – Thorin overheard a conversation between two men, that finally something exciting would happen within this boring city, a public trial of a thief.

 

Of course, it wasn't as much fun as an execution, but they should witness some spilled blood at least. Every thief ended up with losing a hand. It was always fun to watch the screaming and begging and swearing. Besides, this time the thief was a dwarf. This was even more entertaining.

 

The blacksmith froze at this words. A sudden shiver of fear ran down his spine.

 

A dwarven thief? Could it be Fím?

 

Thorin needed to know. He closed the forge for the day as fast as he could and hurried to the town square where public punishments took place.

 

He arrived too late. The trial was already over, the sentence pronounced. Now the people waited, eager for the execution.

 

Thorin had to stretch himself to catch a glimpse on the condemned and noticed a flash of blond hair.

 

The bailiff, accompanied by two guards at his sides, stood at the front of the wooden stage and exclaimed loudly for the sensationalist crowd to hear, “Executioner, do your duty. Chop the thief's hand off.”

 

A high voice shrieked in panic.

 

The people cheered.

 

Thorin watched, horrified, as a little dwarfling he just knew too well was dragged to the wooden block.

 

There was a brief moment of near silence and Thorin took his chance to shout and raise his voice.

“STOP!” the blacksmith yelled. “You can't do that! He is only a wee lad, a dwarfling, barely 15 years old. STOP!”

 

The executioner binding Fím's hand on the block shot a bewildered look at the bailiff.

 

“And who do you think you are, giving us orders?” the magistrate asked haughtily. Then he spotted the dark-haired dwarf and recognized him.

 

“Ah, I know who you are, dwarf,” the man on the platform sneered.

 

The people in the crowd turned their heads to catch a look at Thorin.

 

“But you're just a foreign blacksmith, a talented craftsman nonetheless, but not important enough to interfere with the government of this city. This is a city ruled by men, dwarf, so it's none of your business. The boy is a thief and the punishment for stealing is losing a hand. It's that simple!”

 

“Then you condemn him – a child – to death. How can he survive that?” Thorin couldn't stop himself. “He will suffer from an infection and even if he survives that, what shall he do for feeding himself, what kind of work can he do with just one hand? Where is his father? I'm sure he can vouch for him.”

 

“His father is dead,” one of the guards laughed. “The scallywag was no better than his offspring. Cheated at cards, got a knife in his guts,” he spat on the ground. “Got what he deserved and so does this little rat.”

 

“How do you know he's dead?” Thorin demanded to know.

 

“Well, we caught the little brat next to his already dead body. His father let him empty the pockets of the honest and hard-working patrons of a pub while the old trickster tried to deceive at gambling, but like father like son they weren't successful.” The crowd started to laugh maliciously.

 

“NOOO, please! I beg you! I will vouch for him.”

 

Thorin couldn't keep his eyes from the small form of the crying and shaking dwarfling. Fím's face was smeared with dirt and tears. The blacksmith fought to get near the executioner's platform. He used his elbows to push his way forward and got some grunts and curses in return.

 

Then he stood in front of the bailiff, panting. He had to tilt his head back to look at the man on the platform.

 

“What- what do you want for his freedom and physical integrity?”

 

“Why do you even care?”

 

“I- I just care for him, that's it. He is a wee lad that never knew better. He should have a second chance.”

 

“What for? He is just another hungry mouth on the streets, an orphan, who will steal again. Even if you pay for him and his debts, I'll guarantee that we will catch him next week again, and then what? Do you want to redeem him again? No, this boy needs a lesson and either he will learn it or die – executioner, do your job.”

 

“WAIT! I will pay for him and I will take him with me. My job here is done, I'm leaving anyway, so you won't see him again, I swear.”

 

“You must be out of your mind, blacksmith,” the bailiff shook his head, “but, well, if you want to pay the boy's debt and take responsibility for him, then that's how it should be.”

 

The crowd murmured displeased but Thorin exhaled with relief.

 

“You have to pay five pieces of gold for his release, blacksmith.”

 

Thorin closed his eyes and swallowed hard. This was nearly a third of the payment he had earned in this city in months. The rest wouldn't suffice for him, Dís, Kíli – and now Fím, too – to survive the upcoming winter. But he could make it, he would find a way to feed them all. Thorin had no idea what Dís would say if he came back with another hungry mouth, but he couldn't leave the boy in this place – he just couldn't.

 

“All right, give me an hour and you will have your money.”

 

“Well, we'll wait an hour, keep the boy as company and when you won't come back, we'll get his hand as payment.” The bailiff laughed callously and the crowd cheered and clapped their hands.

 

“Promise not to harm him until I'm back.”

 

“You have one hour, blacksmith.”

 

Thorin glared a moment at the magistrate then he turned around to fetch his money.

 

 

**-x-**

 

Thorin returned to the smithy with a still shaking dwarfling in his arms. The boy was silent now and the dark-haired dwarf set him down on the cool anvil.

 

“Did they hurt you? Just let me have a look.”

 

Fím didn't move. He just sat there, his head hanging.

 

“Fím? Are you alright?” Thorin asked, concerned. “Lad, speak to me.”

 

“W-why did you d-do that?” the dwarfling finally whispered.

 

“Oh, boy,” the smith hugged the kid then put him at arm’s length and looked him in the eyes, “how could I leave you there? Is it true, though? Did you take the patrons' money?”

 

Fím nodded and bit his lips.

 

Thorin sighed, “Did your father force you?”

 

Another nod.

 

“And now he is dead – Did you watch him die?”

 

“Ye-eah,” a desperate sob left the boy's mouth.

 

“Come, come, it's alright, it's going to be alright. It's over, little one. I'll take you with me, away from this place. We'll go to my sister. She lives in Ered Luin. You will like it there. It's just a small town, but surrounded by lots of green, there are wide meadows and a nearby forest at the mountainside. You will meet my nephew Kíli. You're nearly the same age. He is just a little younger. You both can be friends and you can play together, go to school together and you will never have to steal or beg again. Would you like that, Fím?”

 

The boy had stared wide-eyed at Thorin while he had described his home and the possible future.

 

“Do you mean it?” The blond asked disbelieving.

 

“Of course, little one. I meant what I say to the bailiff. I will take you with me and take care of you. Do you want to come with me?”

 

Fím hesitated, then nodded and gave a shy smile at the blacksmith.

 

 

**-x-**

 

Two weeks later they finally reached the village outskirts of Ered Luin. Fím was riding on the blacksmith's broad shoulders. Even if the dwarfling would walk for hours without complaining, Thorin knew the boy was tired and afraid. The blond fell more and more silent since he had told him they would reach his home the following day.

 

Thorin felt nervous himself. He didn't know how Dís would react and if she would welcome Fím into their little family. So, the dark-haired dwarf didn't start running, as he usually did, when the small cottage came in sight.

 

Stopping in front of the house, Fím's small and cold hand clutching his tightly, Thorin knocked at the door, once, twice.

 

They heard stumbling footsteps from inside then the door was opened by a wee dark-haired dwarfling. Huge brown eyes stared at the visitors then the boy cried happily, “Unca Thorin,” and threw himself at the familiar dwarf.

 

Thorin knelt down and caught Kíli with one arm, the other hand still holding Fím's hand.

 

“Hello Kíli, my boy,” the blacksmith said warmly.

 

Then another person came into view, a beautiful, dark-haired dwarrowdam.

 

“Thorin, nadad, you're home.”

 

Thorin rose, released Kíli from his embrace and greeted his sister with a tight one-armed hug.

 

“You're early, this year. We expected you in two weeks at the earliest.”

 

Before Thorin could answer, Kíli asked curious, “Who are you?”

 

The brunet dwarfling had finally noticed the other boy.

 

Thorin cleared his throat, “Dís, Kíli, this is Fím. Fím, meet my sister Dís and her son Kíli, my nephew.”

 

“Hi,” Kíli grinned cheerfully at the blond child that tried to hide behind Thorin's legs.

 

Dís didn't say anything, just lifted a questioning eyebrow, then shot a stern glance at her brother.

 

Without looking at her son the dwarrowdam said, “Kíli, will you take Fím and play a little outside? It's too early for dinner and I want to have a word or two with your uncle.”

 

“Yes, amad,” Kíli hopped playfully outside, grabbed for Fím's free hand, who stood still, too afraid to move, and tried to drag the blond boy with him.

 

Thorin looked uneasy at his sister. When he felt a tug at his hand he shot a glance at Fím. “Go with Kíli, Fím. It's all right. I'll talk to you soon, ok?”

 

The blond nodded and loosened his grip on the blacksmith's hand to follow the excited brunet dwarfling.

 

**-x-**

 

“Thorin, it's hard to feed one dwarfling. We can't afford another hungry mouth,” Dís sadly touched her big brother's cheek.

 

Thorin swallowed, “Please, namadith, he is so young. He can have my share. I will find a way to feed us all, maybe there is another job in the mines-”

 

“NO, I forbid that. I won't lose you to the mines like I lost my husband. You can't do that to me. And what makes you sure that the boy is trustworthy? What if he steals from us, the little we have? What if he hurts Kíli? No matter his age, he is a thief.”

 

“He is a mistreated, abandoned child, an orphan, Dís. He has no one left and he isn't bad at heart. Imagine, if it was Kíli who had to live this way. Wouldn't you want someone to help him? Care for him?”

 

“This isn't about Kíli! He has us and if ever something happens to us there are others, like Dwalin and Balin or Gloin and his wife who would look after him. He would never be alone and have to steal.”

 

“Exactly- and that's why we have to take care of him. The child has never known love or trust. We can teach him, please, namadith, just this winter. In spring I will take the lad with me. He is still too young but I will take him as my apprentice.”

 

Dís sighed deeply and stared with furrowed brows at her brother, when an outraged cry from the outside startled them.

 

“AMAD!”

 

“KÍLI,” Dís shot a glare at Thorin that said, “I told you, didn't I?”, and ran out of the house.

 

“Kíli? What's wrong? Are you hurt?” She stopped dead when her eyes fell on her young son, who was standing there, his little hands on his small hips and staring at her with the most indignant facial expression a nine-year-old could muster. Fím stood a few feed behind the little brunet boy, his head hanging and his blond locks hiding the look on his face.

 

“Ama,” Kíli repeated, “Can you believe it, no one ever read a bedtime story to Fi, NO ONE EVER.” The next moment his expression changed to pleading puppy-eyes. “Can he listen to our story tonight? Please, ama, can he? Say he can.”

 

Against her will Dís' lips spread into a warm smile. “Of course, sannidoy.” She knelt down and caught a whooping Kíli in her arms and hugged him.

 

“And can he sleep in my bed, too?” Kíli asked excitedly.

 

“Hm, well, as we have no other place for him right now, I think, he should, if he wants, of course. If not, he will have your bed for a while and you can sleep in my bed with me, Kíli.”

 

Kíli pouted. Sleeping in his amad's bed was only nice during thunderstorms and when it was too cold. Usually she told him to lay still and not move so much. “But he will like to sleep in my bed, won't he?” The brunet turned his head and grinned at the blond, “Fi, we can talk aaaall night and it will be soooo much fun.”

 

“No, you won't talk all night,” Dís said sternly. “Little dwarflings had to sleep at night, so they are well rested in the morning and ready for school and helping their amad and uncle.”

 

Thorin chuckled, watching Dís putting Kíli in his place. Then his gaze fell on Fím again. The boy stood still like a statue, seems not to dare to move. Before the dark-haired dwarf could talk to him, his sister spoke, “Kíli, stop for a moment - Fím, will you just come here to me?”

 

The blond lifted his gaze hesitantly. He looked at Thorin who nodded encouragingly with a smile. Careful the little boy stepped a bit closer. Dís gestured to come even closer. When he finally stood in front of her, she carefully took his small hand and looked him in the eye. “Is this alright for you? To share Kíli's bed? Do you want to stay with us, Fíli- um Fím?”

 

Kíli giggled about his mother's mistake, “Fíli sound nice, like my name, like we are brothers.”

 

“What do you say?” Dís asked again. Fím remained silent but nodded slowly and a tiny smile spread on his lips. Then the dwarrowdam pulled him forward in an embrace and hugged the blond boy next to her son.

 

Thorin watched them with a lump in his throat, he knew his sister wouldn't let him or Fím down.

 

After a few moments Dís rose and held out her hands, one for each dwarfling to take. They headed for the house. “So, what do you say to some food?”

 

“Yeah,” three voices answered enthusiastically.

 

“But first Thorin and Fíli,” Dís winked at the blond boy who blushed but grinned, “need a bath.”

 

**-x-**

 

One year later...

 

“Uncle Thorin,” two little laughing dwarflings, one brown-haired, one blond, came running along the meadow to great the returning blacksmith who waved at them, a broad smile on his lips.

 

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3  
> I would love to know, what you think.  
> Criticism/comments/kudos are always welcome :)


End file.
